The Masochism Tango
by Rocketlover
Summary: Set at the end of seaon 5 but in my universe.....Peter left on retreat and never returned. Assumpta married Leo in London but they soon separated and divorced. Now Naimh is getting married to Sean and Peter has returned......
1. Chapter 1

This is set at the end of season 5 but is my alternate universe…….Peter left on retreat only he never returned. Assumpta married Leo in London but soon separated and then divorced. It's approaching Niamh's wedding to Sean and Peter has returned …….

**The Masochism Tango**

Chapter One

The bus wound its way around the curving mountainside of County Wicklow, lightly jostling its few passengers. Peter Clifford stared vacantly out the window at the familiar countryside, vaguely aware of a couple's hushed conversation who sat three rows behind. He returned his attention to the back of the drivers head before closing his eyes and letting the rhythm of the bus lull him into a light doze.

He remembered his first journey into this green, beautiful land, a day not unlike like this one. A slight smile crossed his lips at the memory of a flying confessional of all things, before that of being rescued from the rain by a beautiful stranger.

_Assumpta._

He could picture her face still, every last glorious detail; but then the freshest memory flooded his mind's eye….the kitchen at Fitzgerald's and the pain that had ensued.

"So that's it, is it?" Assumpta said, hurt clearly evident in her voice.

"Yes, that is it." He could hear his reply even after all this time; cold, clinical, each syllable clipped and short. He could still picture her face; see the distress he had caused. Stood by and watched impotently as a chasm had grown between them. Watched Assumpta Fitzgerald, a woman with more spirit than he ever knew could exist in one person reduced to tears. He knew his words had forced her into some decision, but selfishly or out of self protection he'd let her go. Padraig had called her to the bar and he had chosen to slip quietly away.

The image haunted him still. The last conversation they'd had before he'd left - correction, before he had run away. Left Ballykissangel, his home of nearly three years. A place he had come to love. He had simply left Ballyk and its residents; _his_ parishioners, people who had come to mean more to him than any before or, for that matter after. He hadn't meant to stay away, but he knew in his heart that no retreat would ever drive Assumpta from his heart. So he had chosen the easy option. The one he was by now, well rehearsed in, and he had asked Father MacAnally for a transfer. To say the elder priest had been more than accommodating would not have done justice to the man. If he did not have a heart condition, Peter would have sworn Father Mac had danced for joy as soon as the phone had gone dead.

He had never been accepted by Father Mac and there was a mean streak in the man that Peter had grown to be wary off. Never so much the day though, when Father Mac had called Peter to confirm his new posting. They had finished with exchanging mild pleasantries before Father Mac had the last word.

"_Oh, by the by, I thought you might like to know Miss Fitzgerrald is back in town. Only it's Mrs McGarvay now. Seems she found herself a husband of all things in London."_

Peter could hear the smirk in his voice to this day.

At those words his world had collapsed around him. Assumpta – married? How could she do that? To him? To _them_? But then, there was no them was there? He had told her that, and he understood now what she had meant that day. But still? How could she just walk away and fall in love like that? Pick up the pieces, move on, find love and get married?! In the space of a few weeks! Seems he really had got it wrong. Anything between them must have been purely one sided on his part.

He tried to rationalize it in his head. After all, he had already chosen not to return, but she didn't know that, did she! What was he supposed to do? Return from his retreat to find her married? To watch another man hold her, kiss her, do what he couldn't! Was she punishing him? Was that it?

No. He knew that this had to stop! So he had tried to throw himself into his new post, to be a good priest, but she still would not leave his heart. He resented her for it and tried to hate her for her betrayal but he couldn't and nor could he erase her. In time he found in conscience he could not dedicate his mind, his soul, his _heart _to God any longer; for his heart was no longer his to give. So he had taken the only avenue open to him and he had left the priesthood.

He'd finally done what she'd wanted him, but would never have asked him to do. All too late. She was married to another man and his life continued in its downward spiral. He lost his vocation, ergo his job and home, and to cap it all he lost his mother soon after.

Peter in a desperate bid to justify his life had then joined a catholic organisation helping out in war zones. So it was he had found himself in Kosovo. It was a rude awakening and one that was to challenge the very core of his faith. Seeing what man was capable off against his brother had shaken every belief he held dear and like acid began to strip him of whom he was. He'd felt like he was going slowly mad. He looked now on the _accident _as a mixed blessing. He'd watched helplessly as a friend stepped onto a mine. The accompanying blast had caused shrapnel to tear into his left leg, nearly severing a main artery and killing him. Yet if he had not been injured he would still be there – and he felt sure that Peter Clifford as he was, would no longer exist.

The bus met imperfection with the road in a particularly violent jolt. Peter woke with a start gripping his leg, but was fully alert. He took in his surroundings and forced himself to relax.

'I'm on a bus, en route to BallyK – not a war zone' he chastised himself.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a tattered letter.

He had written to Michael Ryan from the hospital as a way of silencing his demons. He'd needed to know what was going on in the lives of his old friends, and of course though it pained him to admit it, he wanted to know if Assumpta was happy. He'd been shocked to learn of Ambrose's death, and felt incredible guilt for not being there for Niamh. Now she was remarrying and Michael said the fellow was good man. He'd been honoured to officiate at her first wedding, and then been absent when she needed him most. So it was he found himself here, on a bus to Ballyk. Going to attend a wedding he wasn't even invited to, not sure if he would even be welcome.

He'd missed some major events since he'd been gone; literally life and death events. Ambrose had died and Brendan and Siobhan now had a daughter. Ironically, the new priest despite being of good Irish stock was still a fish out of water, just as he had once been. And Assumpta - Assumpta was divorced, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Peter carefully folded the letter and placed it back inside his jacket pocket. He wondered not for the first time, how Michael had talked him into this. When he had written to him, it had been purely for information, an attempt if you will at closure. Yet, somehow Michael had convinced him, that to truly achieve that, then he needed to return. That and the man had been so overjoyed to hear from him, he was practically falling over himself trying to get Peter to visit.

At Peter's polite refusals, Michael had then played the guilt card after learning of Peter's injury. As his doctor and friend he'd said he needed to see Peter with his own eyes to be sure he was okay.

"Ballykissangel coming up," the driver called out.

Peter's head shot up and he looked out of the window just as they crossed over the bridge. The bus slowly pulled to a halt outside Kathleen's shop. The couple from behind Peter walked past his seat as he grabbed his rucksack. He pulled out a baseball cap from a side pouch and quickly donned it. He caught his reflection in the glass as he rose and briefly stared at himself. The same man who left here and yet not the same man. He looked older, the eyes sad from sights he should not have seen. His tall frame was lean and well-toned from hauling heavy boxes of aid where it was needed. Most strikingly though, he wore a neatly trimmed beard. He'd grown it in Kosovo, due to the shortage of available hot water in the morning - cold shaves were not for him.

So it was he climbed from the bus and gingerly stepped out. He hauled his pack onto his back and turned around as the bus pulled away. There across the street was Fitzgerald's, just as he remembered it. Its bright colours beckoned to him and he felt an urge to cross the street, but instead rubbed his thigh before beginning the slow trudge to Michael's surgery. He was strong enough to walk unaided now, but he walked with a limp and had to take his steps slowly.

He reached the surgery and leaned heavily against the door catching his breath. Pushing his way in, he was relieved to find an empty waiting room. He quickly scanned the place and noted the door to Michael's office was closed. Surmising he was probably in with a patient, Peter shrugged out off his pack, picked up a magazine and took a seat. He didn't have long to wait.

"Okay Mrs O'Neil, I'll see you again in a couple of days," Michael said as he escorted an elderly lady from his office.

Peter pulled the magazine high to hide his face as they walked past. As he heard the front door close he lowered it and stood up.

"Hello Michael," he said.

"Wha?! Peter! What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow," Michael spluttered before bounding forward and embracing him.

Peter stumbled slightly, his leg protesting at the extra weight. Michael pulled back, but gripped Peter's arms.

"Let me look at you," the doctor said casting a critical eye over his friend.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Still in one piece," he said.

"Could do with a hearty meal if you ask me," Michael replied before pulling him into the office. He pointed at a chair and Peter sank gratefully into it.

"Why didn't you call, I'd have picked you up?"

"Got an earlier flight," Peter said shrugging. He didn't add that he if he'd waited much longer he thought he might have backed out altogether.

"More like you thought I'd have some hideous surprise party planned. It's good to see you Peter."

"Yeah, you too."

Michael reached inside his desk and produced a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses. He quickly filled them and offered one to Peter.

"Thanks. So what are we drinking to?" Peter asked.

"Don't recall we ever needed a reason before," Michael said and smiled. "Just don't leave it so long next time, eh?"

Peter smiled slightly and they tapped their glasses together before drinking.

"So how do you want to play this Peter?"

Peter took another slow sip before looking up at the elder man.

"What, you mean announce the prodigal son's return?

"Something like that," Michael laughed.

"I'm not sure. But I bet I can guess where everyone will be tonight," he chuckled.

"Do them all at once eh? Just like a sticking plaster," Michael said. "Just as well there'll be a doctor in the house."

Peter looked at him and smirked. "Sticking plaster theory it is then," he said absently rubbing his left thigh.

"You'll let me have a look at you?" Michael asked with concern.

"Yeah," Peter said hesitantly. "Though not right now, eh?"

"You're tired?"

"Knackered," Peter said grateful for the out.

"Well c'mon then. Let's get you home. You can get some rest before tonight," Michael said standing. "I'll pull the car round okay?"

Peter nodded, gulped down the last of his drink and wondered just what he was letting himself in for….

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Peter slept soundly, exhausted from the flight and bus journey before Michael woke him at six. He showered quickly and changed clothes on autopilot. Walking into the kitchen he found Michael sat drinking coffee with his wife and cleared his throat awkwardly. Two heads turned towards him.

"Hello Mary," Peter said.

Mary smiled at him as she rose from her chair and gave him a hug.

"Hello Fath..Peter," she corrected herself and chuckled. "Sorry, that's going to take a little getting used to. It's good to see you again."

"And you. Thanks for putting me up."

"Don't be daft. You're welcome here for as long as you like," she said then looked at the clock. "Oh would you look at the time, I've got to get to work. I'll see you both later," she said as she grabbed her coat and kissed the top of Michael's head.

Michael watched her go. "I hate her working nights at the hospital," he said before turning to face Peter. "So you hungry?"

Peter nodded. "Famished actually," he said.

"Shall we do it then?"

Peter nodded and they left the house. When they reached Fitzgerald's Peter hesitated. Michael looked at him.

"Just like a sticking plaster remember – best done quickly," the doctor said.

"Yeah – doesn't stop it hurting like hell though," Peter said and smiled slightly, though he made no motion to move.

"Want me to scope it out first?" Michael offered.

Peter took a deep breath and shook his head so Michael nodded and opened the door stepping into the warm light. Peter followed.

"Michael," Brendan called out loudly from the far end of the bar. He waved a hand which froze in mid air as he saw Peter step from behind the door.

"I don't believe it! As I live and breathe - Peter? Is that you?" Brendan said. A hush fell over the bar and several familiar faces turned towards the door.

"Look who I found hanging around outside," Michael said lamely in an attempt to break the silence.

"Hiya Brendan, in fact hi everyone," Peter said tentatively looking around the bar. Liam and Donal waved, Brian recovered quickly and nodded keeping his expression neutral. Then the door to the kitchen opened and Assumpta stepped through carrying a tray of clean glasses.

"Somebody die or something," she said. "Why the sudden hush?"

She followed everyone's gaze to the door and promptly dropped the tray, the glasses shattering into pieces.

Peter's head whipped round and he found himself staring at Assumpta, just as beautiful as he remembered.

"_Peter_?" she gasped.

"Hi." He gave a little wave and smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said gesturing to the broken glass.

"No need to be sorry; you're paying," she said.

He shrugged nonchalantly. Not his best comeback he thought.

"Peter you scoundrel, get yourself over here and tell me where you've been! Pint of lager there Assumpta, and the docs usual," Brendan demanded.

"You can wait until I've cleaned this up," Assumpta snapped.

Peter shook proffered hands from some of the regulars as he made his way over.

"What's with the limp?" Brendan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hurt my leg," he said accepting Brendan's hand. "How are you?"

"A father," Brendan said proudly pulling out a picture of his little girl. "She's at home with her mum who's not going to be impressed she missed your little entrance. You have some explaining to do old friend."

"She's beautiful Brendan. What's she called?" Peter said handing back the photo.

"Aisling and yes she is. Now don't change the subject," Brendan said looking at Peter expectantly.

A pint of lager slammed down on the bar beside him, some of the contents spilling over the sides. "Your pint father," Assumpta said staring coolly at Peter. He turned to take it and locked eyes with her. They were burning bright with emotion conveying a multitude of emotions – the obvious one being anger.

"Thanks. And for the record it's just plain old Peter now. I left the priesthood over a year ago." He watched her eyes widen with surprise before she schooled her expression back to seething.

"What! Why?" Brendan demanded.

"Oh, lot's of things," Peter said sitting down gratefully on a stool Michael had procured for him. He nodded his thanks.

The doors opened again and Niamh entered. She spotted her dad and walked over wearing a smile but stopped suddenly as Peter rose to say hello.

"Hello Niamh," he said.

"Father Clifford? You're back!" she said and threw herself at him knocking him back into the stool.

"So you missed me then?" he said laughing.

"Yes and don't you even think of disappearing like that again father," she said.

"It's just _plain old Peter now_, Niamh" Assumpta sneered. "Saw the light and joined the rest of us mere mortals – that right _Peter_?"

"Assumpta," Brendan warned.

"What?!" she snapped.

"Behave," he said.

She rolled her eyes and went to serve at the other end of the bar.

"Is that true?" Niamh asked.

Peter nodded.

"But," Niamh began only to be interrupted by Brian.

"Why don't we all let Peter here tell us what he's been up to?"

Peter nodded to Brian and took a deep breath. He explained how the sweating statue had been the catalyst to his struggles with being a priest. Liam and Donal looked sufficiently sheepish. He omitted certain details of feelings he held for the local landlady. He talked about how going on retreat didn't really resolve anything and that his new posting had not fulfilled him. So he'd made the painful decision to leave the priesthood and soon after his mother had died. How in a bid to make sense of his life he'd gone to work in Kosovo helping with the human fallout of the civil war. He kept the details of his brush with death deliberately vague; merely saying he'd been caught up in an explosion and hurt his leg.

"Jeez," Brendan whispered.

"That just about trumps my year," Brian said.

"You poor thing," Niamh said and hugged him again.

"Does it hurt?" Donal asked staring at Peter's leg. Liam whacked the back of his head and muttered, "Eejit."

Peter chanced a glance at Assumpta. She was watching and listening while pretending to show disinterest with wiping the bar. She averted her gaze when she caught him looking.

"So Peter, where are you staying?" Brendan asked.

"Michael's putting me up."

"Ah. Knew he was coming did ya Michael?" Brendan said and Michael looked uncomfortable.

Peter spoke up. "Look I'm sorry everyone. I'm sorry about the way I left, I'm sorry about the way I came back. I just wasn't sure what sort of welcome I'd get and I asked Michael not to say anything."

"What? You didn't think you'd be welcome?" Brendan asked.

Peter smiled weakly and shrugged his shoulders. Brendan laughed and patted him heavily on his back making him spill some of his beer.

"Never were a bright boy was you Peter?" he scoffed. "So have you made any plans?"

"No not really."

"Good. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight then."

"What? Why, where are we going?"

"Fishing Peter – we're going fishing."

"I don't fish."

"I know. Be just like old times. I fish – you talk." Brendan said and winked.

The evening drew on and Peter ate and drank plenty with his old friends. He was brought up to speed and was invited to Niamh's wedding.

Eventually Assumpta called last orders and slowly the pub began to empty.

"You ready Peter?" Michael asked.

Peter glanced at Assumpta and then to Michael. "Can you give me a moment?"

Michael glanced at Assumpta cleaning the bar and then back to Peter. "I'll be outside," he said and patted him on the shoulder as he left.

"Assumpta do you have a minute?" Peter asked.

"Twenty-four hours of them every day," she sniped.

Peter sighed and put his elbows on the bar cradling his face in his hands while the last customers left.

Eventually Assumpta closed the door and leant back against it.

Peter rose from the stool and started to move towards her, but she hurried back and put the distance of the bar between them and fixed him with a glare.

"You have a lot of nerve Peter," she said.

Peter ignored her and began collecting glasses. "You want some help cleaning up?"

She watched him limp back to the bar.

"No I can manage – look are you in pain?" she asked trying not to sound concerned.

"Nothing to worry about," he said.

"Who's worried?"

Peter smiled and placed the glasses on the bar looking directly at her.

"What do you want Peter?" Assumpta said coolly.

"To talk."

"Bit late for that isn't it?"

"In my experience it's never too late to talk."

"Hah! What would you know of talking?"

At his raised eyebrow she slammed her hands down on the bar. "Fine! So talk then."

"How are you?"

"Grand."

He tried another tack. "Okay. How _have _you been?"

"_I've _been here Peter."

"Assumpta please," he said shuffling uncomfortably.

She shrugged. "I'm not the one who ran away."

"No?"

"No."

They stared at each other, neither wanting to back down until Assumpta sighed and shook her head. Peter watched as she filled two glasses with wine. She handed him one and he took it.

"Cheers," he said.

"Yeah," she said slowly before taking a drink. He followed suit.

"So did you find what you were looking for Peter?"

"Sorry?"

"When you were talking to everyone earlier – you said you'd gone to Kosovo to try and make sense of your life. So did you?"

"No," he said sadly and shook his head. "I don't think anyone can make sense of anything out there. God, Assumpta it's such a mess!" He ran a hand over his tired face and closed his eyes seeing images of fear stricken faces. Faces he knew no longer belonged to the living and unconsciously he shuddered. Assumpta watched him then hesitantly raised her hand resting it on his shoulder.

"I know you Peter - you'd have made a difference," she said softly.

He met her eyes and was rewarded by a brief smile from her.

"Assumpta," he whispered. He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand and she closed her eyes. He felt her lean into his touch, but then suddenly her eyes opened and she stepped back throwing him a dirty look.

"God, how do you do that?!" she snapped angrily.

"What?" he asked.

"Don't play games with me Peter," she accused. She took his glass from him and tipped the wine into a drip tray then stared at him. "Why did you come back?"

"I wanted to come home."

"Home? _Here_?"

"Feels like home," he shrugged. "I care about..."

"For how long Peter?" Assumpta said cutting him off. At his blank expression she continued. "Didn't you have people you cared about in Kosovo? People who might have grown to depend on you? How long was that home before you left them?" she said oozing hostility.

He flinched at her words and tone and couldn't help but react. "Yes I did. But the whole getting blown up and nearly dying thing sort of took that decision away from me!" he said angrily.

He watched her eyes dart to his leg before looking him in the eye.

"Nearly dy…what happened exactly?" she said slowly her anger suddenly deflated.

"I left with a bang," he said sarcastically.

"That's not funny Peter."

"It wasn't supposed to be," he said. "Assumpta, why don't you say what's really on your mind?"

"Okay, fine - You left Peter. Just like that," she said and clicked her fingers for emphasis. "How could you do that? Just up and leave like that? You stood in my kitchen and told me you were going on retreat! Never once did you mention it was a one way trip! How could you do that to me?" she accused.

"How could I do that to you?" he laughed bitterly. "What exactly was I supposed to have come back to Assumpta? You playing happy families with Leo?"

Assumpta stared at him like she'd just been slapped. "Oh don't you dare try and turn this on me Peter!"

"No really I want to know - what exactly was I supposed to think?"

"You weren't supposed to think anything Peter because you didn't know. You'd already gone!"

"Well I _did_ know – Father Mac took great pleasure in telling me!"

"Oh."

"Yes, '_oh_' - and as you just so eloquently pointed out you _thought _I was coming back. So I ask you again Assumpta – what was I supposed to think? Was I supposed to come back and watch you with Leo? Was that the plan? I hurt you so you'd hurt me? Well congratulations Assumpta, if that was your intention you succeeded!" He heard his voice rising with the pent up anger he held within him.

"What?! _My _intention to hurt _you_?!" she spluttered. "God you arrogant, stupid man – are you that thick?! Even now you still can't see it can you?!"

"See what?"

"Oh I don't' know! How 'bout perhaps this whole sorry mess from my side instead of Peter Perfects!"

"Go on then tell me," he said coldly. "Tell me about this whirlwind romance and wedding. Where was the venue again, London or was it Vegas?! Tell me about how I meant so little to you that after five minutes of me leaving, you went off and fell in love!" he said angrily.

"Don't!" she warned.

He leaned over the bar his face inches from hers. "Tell me Assumpta!"

"Stop it Peter!"

"Tell me," he growled.

"I didn't love him you idiot!" she yelled and pushed Peter backwards. He stumbled but caught himself on a stool and they stood staring at each other breathing heavily.

"God, Peter would you sit down before you fall down," she pleaded.

He scowled at her but sat nonetheless.

"We," she said gesturing between Peter and herself. "We had feelings for each over. God knows why, but there you have it. You knew it and I knew it and we danced around that fact for nearly three years. I didn't imagine it Peter; you played your part and y_ou_ flirted with _me_! You held my hand, you played with my emotions and when it got too real you ran off and left me to deal with it! Well, I dealt with it okay? It might not have been the cleverest way, and God knows I screwed up big time, but I did it with the best intentions and hurt a good man in the process!"

Peter opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off by jabbing him in the chest.

"And just in case your giant ego thinks that's you, it's not. I'm ashamed of myself because I used Leo. And I'm bloody furious with you for forcing me into making that decision - I knew I didn't love him but I married him hoping he'd drive you from my head and I lost a good friend because of it! So cheers for that Peter! Now thanks for the chat we really should do it again sometime but could you please close the door on your way out!" she said and stormed into the kitchen slamming the door.

Peter sat stunned and stared at the closed door. After a minute he slowly got up and walked around the bar. He knocked on the glass pane of the kitchen door.

"Assumpta?" he called out but was met with silence.

"Assumpta? Please," he tried again.

The light in the kitchen went out in response...

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Brendan made good on his promise and dragged Peter out fishing the next day. They made pleasant small talk and Peter even attempted a spot of fishing before using his leg as an excuse to sit down.

"Can I ask you something Peter?"

Peter looked up at him and nodded.

"How come you never kept in touch?"

Peter sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He'd been expecting this question and now that he was faced with it he wasn't sure he could make Brendan understand. He stalled for time and asked him to sit down. Brendan secured his rod in its stand and sat down beside him.

"I told you before I wasn't thinking straight when I left?" Peter said.

"Yeah I know but…well what I guess I really want to know is why you'd contact Michael and not me. I thought we were friends?"

"We were and I hope we still are?"

Brendan nodded and Peter smiled briefly.

"I'm sorry Brendan, I really am….but you have to understand that when I left here I was pretty screwed up, and things didn't get any better for me by leaving. When my mum died so soon after I'd left the priesthood, well I…..I had some issues with God shall we say?"

"You thought you were being punished?" Brendan guessed.

Peter nodded. "My family didn't understand what I was going through 'cause I felt I couldn't lay my burden on them. I tell you Brendan I've never felt so utterly alone in my life as I did those weeks after her death…so I left…..again. Felt I needed to atone for my sins I guess." He paused thoughtfully and shrugged before continuing.

"Went to Kosovo where I was reduced to taking each day as it came along; I wouldn't call it living and in hindsight it wasn't a smart move for me to do at that point in my life. I guess I just withdrew further into myself. Then after the accident I was in hospital for quite a while and suddenly I had all this time to contemplate things. Gave me chance to reflect on how I'd behaved……..and well I was embarrassed I guess. I wanted to know you were all okay, but I didn't know if I'd be welcome. Plus I had my reasons for staying away," Peter said.

Brendan gave him a knowing look but said nothing.

"Anyhow, who better than the local doc to fill me in? I knew I could rely on his professional discretion to say nothing and well, to be honest with you when I first got in touch I only wanted information. I hadn't planned on coming back. Now _you_ – you wouldn't have let me do that," Peter said wagging a finger at Brendan.

"Damn right I wouldn't have," Brendan said smirking. "So _how_ then did the good doctor persuade you to come back?"

Peter smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Guilt, emotional blackmail, professional_ concern_. You name it Brendan! I tell you the doc's got a mean streak in him when he puts his mind to it," Peter said and laughed.

"Good man that Michael," said Brendan and he laughed too.

They sat in amicable silence for a while until Brendan spoke up again. "So do you wanna talk 'bout it?"

"About what?"

"Don't be obtuse Peter. You've been to hell and back and got the scars to prove it," he said nodding at Peter's leg.

Peter stared off across the river and shook his head. "You don't want to hear about it – trust me."

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to," said Brendan shrugging. "Offers there's all I'm saying."

Peter looked at him sideways. "Appreciate it," he said sincerely and he meant it.

Brendan nodded and turned back to the river. When neither spoke for a minute Peter felt he owed it to Brendan to try and explain his hesitance. "It's just all a bit too fresh right now," he offered.

Brendan nodded. "When you're ready then," he said and the two men smiled at each other in understanding.

"So what _are_ you going to do? You're not going back there are you?" Brendan asked.

Peter shook his head. "No, I'm not going back. As for what I am going to do – I'm not sure." He skimmed a stone across the river and received a reproachful look.

"Sorry. Any suggestions?" Peter asked.

"Yes. First you stop lobbing bloody boulders into the river. Then my friend you go forward – one step at a time, but you go forward." He stood up and picked up his fishing rod. After a minute he glanced at Peter.

"You talk to Assumpta yet?"

Peter threw another stone into the river, this time with much more gusto and Brendan shouted, "Peter a simple yes would have sufficed! You're gonna scare the fish!"

Peter stared at the river watching the ripples of his handiwork spread. It dawned on him then that he was that stone and he realised for the first time what effect his ripples had had on Assumpta. He closed his eyes and let out an audible groan.

"So I guess that means you talked to her. I gather it didn't go well?" Brendan said.

"That would be an understatement," Peter said and he stood up slowly looking out over the river. "Did you know I had feelings for Assumpta?"

Brendan laughed and then attempted to look serious at Peter's dirty look. "I'd guessed at something like that. You said earlier you had your reasons for staying away. It was Assumpta wasn't it?"

Peter nodded.

"You could have talked to me you know?" Brendan admonished.

"Paragon of virtue remember?" Peter said bitterly, pointing at himself.

"No Peter you're a man and I was capable of seeing beyond the collar. I could have helped."

"I just wanted to do what was right," Peter said quietly.

"And what you wanted didn't come into it?"

"No it didn't Brendan. I'd made a vow to God."

"Yeah and it nearly drove you mad Peter. Do you think God would have wanted that for you? Because that's not the God I believe in."

"No, me neither," Peter sighed. "It just took me a while to figure it out."

"Well when you eventually did figure it out why didn't you want to come back? And don't give me the 'I wasn't sure if I'd be welcome speech.'"

Peter looked at Brendan like he was stupid. "_Assssumpta_," he said drawing out the name.

"But you weren't a priest anymore," Brendan said confused.

"No but she was married. Father Mac made certain of telling me that before I left for England."

"Did he now?" Brendan said quietly filing that titbit of information away. "Well surely Michael must have told you she and Leo had divorced?"

"Yeah, but that didn't change anything."

Now it was Brendan's turn to look at Peter like he was stupid.

"I was so angry with her Brendan!" Peter said throwing another stone in the river not caring if he scared the fish or not. "I didn't understand how she could just go and do that. Go off and get married like that!"

Brendan sighed and placed a consoling hand on his friends shoulder. "I remember when they arrived back together – knew it would end in tears….you shouldn't blame her Peter it was over in a blink of an eye. She was miserable."

"I know," Peter said sadly and Brendan looked at him quizzically.

"Last night she said she'd done it because of me," he explained. "She married a man she didn't love to try and get me out off her head!"

"Ouch!"

"Yeah, and all this time I've been mad at her. It never dawned on me that she'd do something like that….I thought that she didn't care, that she'd never loved…"

Peter stopped speaking and turned to look at Brendan as if seeing him for the first time. "I'm an idiot aren't I?"

Brendan laughed and extended his arm around Peters shoulder. "I do believe I told you last night you weren't a bright boy."

Peter sighed and shook his head. "So what do I do about it?"

"Well Peter, bearing in mind that despite my beautiful Aisling, I've spent most of my life a confirmed bachelor - I'm probably not the best person to give advice on matters of the heart; especially when the recipient of that advice is an ex-priest...but here goes."

Peter listened in expectantly.

"You grovel."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

After catching up with Siobhan and meeting Aisling, Peter made his excuses and left. He stopped by Michael's surgery as promised and subjected himself to an examination. When Michael was finished he climbed down off the table and pulled his jeans back on.

"Nasty business Peter," Michael said while writing in his file. "You were lucky."

"Yeah I know." Peter shrugged and tucked his shirt into his jeans before buckling his belt.

"No, I don't think you do. I got your records today."

"Michael. I'm fine, really."

"You're keeping up with the exercises you were shown?"

Peter nodded and sat down in the chair opposite Michael.

"Still, I'll arrange for you to see the physio at Cildargan. He's a friend of mine – knows his stuff."

Peter nodded gratefully.

"What about counselling?" Michael asked.

Peter didn't answer and Michael looked up from his note taking.

"Peter?"

"I don't need counselling," Peter said quietly.

"'No of course not," Michael said his voice laden with sarcasm.

"Michael you wanted to look at my leg and you've done that. I'll see the physio but that's it. Okay?"

"You need to talk to someone Peter."

"And I will. But it will be on my terms Michael," Peter said forcefully.

Michael regarded him for a moment before letting it go.

"Are we done here?" Peter asked.

Michael nodded slowly and shook his head as Peter got to his feet and left.

888888

He made his way down to Fitzgerald's and walked in through the accommodation entrance quickly scanning the place. There was no sign of Assumpta but there was a blonde woman behind the bar he didn't recognise.

"Hi," she said. "What'll you have?"

"Pint of lager," he said while glancing at the menu board. "I'll take a ham sandwich as well please."

She started to pull his pint and Peter leaned on the bar. "Where's Assumpta?" he asked trying to sound casual.

The woman took a closer look at him before replying. "She's away shopping to Cildargan."

"Ah," he said. He accepted his pint and walked over to a table. His sandwich arrived a few minutes later.

"I'm Orla by the way," the woman said extending her hand to him. He looked up and shook it. "Peter."

She smiled and sat down. "So how come you know Assumpta? I've not seen you around before."

"I used to live here," he said hesitantly.

Orla's eyes widened with interest and she leaned in. "Really? When?"

Peter studied her for a moment and then smiled slightly. "I left a couple of years ago. I er, I used to be the curate."

Orla looked disappointed for a second then laughed and clapped her hands. "Oh, my brother will want to meet you!"

At Peter's blank expression she explained. "My brother's the new curate."

Peter's smile faltered for a moment but he recovered himself well.

"You sure don't look like a priest," she said.

"Probably because I'm not a priest anymore," Peter said and lifted his drink to his lips.

Orla looked him up and down appreciatively and Peter actually felt himself blush. "Well then," she said in a soft voice. "Lunch is on me."

Peter gulped on his lager and felt relief when the pub door opened. It was short lived however when he saw Father MacAnally enter with a young priest who he assumed to be Orla's brother.

"Ah, I heard you were back in town and how am I not surprised to find you in here?" Father Mac said wandering over to Peter's table.

Peter stood and smiled a smile he didn't feel. He held out his hand and the elder priest shook it.

"Allow me to introduce you to your replacement. Father Aiden O'Connell meet Peter Clifford."

Aidan stepped forward and took his hand. "Pleasure to meet you," he said and Peter nodded. "Likewise."

"It's nice to be able to put a face to the figures."

"Sorry?" Peter asked puzzled.

"My strong point isn't book-keeping so I tend to use yours as a guide," Aidan explained and Peter smiled in understanding.

"So you finally left the priesthood then?" Father Mac interrupted with a sneer.

Just then the door opened and Niamh entered. She registered Peter's uncomfortable expression and the company he was keeping.

"Peter, sorry I'm late," she called out loudly and he looked at her with a quizzical eyebrow.

"Orla, I'll have the soup and an orange juice," she said. "Fathers', you don't mind if I steal him away? We're having a catch-up lunch."

The two priests smiled and moved away to the bar.

Peter mouthed 'thank you' and they both sat down.

"How've you been Peter?"

"'Bout as good as you," he said.

They were interrupted as Orla brought over Niamh's lunch. She placed it on the table and gave Peter a flirtatious smile before returning behind the bar. Niamh snickered and Peter gave her a reproachful look. He took a bite of his sandwich and then became aware of Niamh staring at him.

"What?" he said while absently wiping his mouth in case he had something stuck to his face.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

Peter steeled himself for any number of questions and stalled for time. He picked up his pint and took a sip.

"Shoot," he said.

"What's with the beard?"

Peter had to stop himself spitting out lager and laughed. Of all the questions he was expecting, that was not one of them!

Niamh smiled and leaned forward expectantly.

"It grew out of necessity and kinda stuck," he said. At Niamh's blank expression he continued. "No hot water in the mornings."

"Well I think it suits you, but then I'm biased these days." Peter raised an eyebrow and she explained that Sean had a beard and they both chuckled.

"Y'know when you first arrived here Assumpta said you looked like you were twelve years old!"

"Oh really?" Peter laughed despite himself, happy to just to revel in the old days before everything got complicated.

"Well you can't say that now," she said sadly. "I guess we've all grown up since then?"

Peter frowned and looked at her. "I'm sorry I wasn't around for you Niamh," he said.

"So why did you? Leave I mean, Peter?"

The blunt question threw him and he didn't know what to say.

Niamh beat him to it. "You had feelings for Assumpta didn't you?"

Peter said nothing, but he didn't try to deny it either.

"It's okay you know Peter. Well, it is now," she chuckled. "I'll admit a few years ago I wouldn't have understood – but I've grown up a lot since you last saw me. I've had to, and I've learned a few things in that time. Sean helped me to learn what love's really like. Don't get me wrong, I mean I loved Ambrose too, but……well do you remember us talking one day in my kitchen when Assumpta was thinking of leaving for Dublin?"

Peter nodded recalling the conversation.

"You said there were different ways of showing love, different degrees….. I never really understood until I met Sean. It was completely unlike anything I'd ever felt with Ambrose and it scared me. There was this whole new intensity I'd never experienced. I loved Ambrose but I _love_ Sean. I think you know what I'm talking about Peter, don't you?"

Peter smiled slightly and nodded.

Niamh reached across the table and held his hand. "I thought so. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You were everyone's rock and you had no-one to turn to yourself. You must have gone through hell. The both of you must. I never understood why she'd married like that but I think I understand now."

Peter gave her hand a squeeze.

"Did you know that I was going to leave Ambrose for Sean?"

"What?" he said shocked.

"Or that the last thing I said to Ambrose was that I wanted a divorce – can you imagine my guilt?"

"Niamh…"he started.

"It's okay Peter, really. I've made my peace and I've been given a second chance at love. Maybe you and Assumpta have too?"

Peter smiled sadly and nodded. He didn't know how he was going to convince Assumpta of that but he knew somehow he had to.

"I don't think she'll listen to me," he said.

"Well sure you didn't do yourself any favours last night," she said.

Peter's head shot up. "You've talked to her? What did she say?"

"Well it was more of a rant actually. Went something along the lines of your name, followed by a stream of colourful expletives and so on. You need to talk to her Peter," she said.

He blew out his cheeks and ran his hands through his hair. "I know, but will she stand still long enough to listen?"

"You'll have to make her listen then won't you?"

"Well any suggestions greatly appreciated 'cause Brendan wasn't too helpful," he said.

"You're taking advice from Brendan Kearny? Oh sure he's a regular Casanova! Honestly Peter! So go on then tell me, what words of wisdom did he have to impart?"

Peter smirked into his pint. "He said I should grovel."

Niamh laughed loudly and lowered her voice when several heads turned in their direction. "Y'know you could try the novel approach."

"What's that?" Peter asked.

She looked him in the eye. "You love her don't you?"

He nodded.

"Have you told her that?"

"Not in so many words, no."

"Well don't you think you should? Tell her how you feel. Be honest with yourselves for once."

Peter nodded and gave a not very encouraging smile. Niamh took pity on him and decided to change subjects, and as the pub filled up he sat back and let her fill him in on all her wedding plans.

Assumpta entered an hour later carrying shopping bags. Peter looked up at her but she ignored him and went straight into the kitchen.

Niamh rolled her eyes and dragged him to his feet. "C'mon," she said and started pushing him in the direction of the bar.

"What? No, Niamh I have no idea what to say to her," he spluttered.

"Sure you've had years to figure out what to say," she said pushing him behind the bar. Orla looked up at the sudden invasion of her space and Niamh held up a hand to stall her protests.

"It's alright Orla he's harmless," Niamh said while opening the kitchen door.

"Go on then," she said and shoved him inside. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Peter muttered sarcastically as she closed the door behind him. He looked around apprehensively and let out a sigh of relief when he found an empty kitchen. He was thinking about doing a runner out the other door when the whistle on the kettle began to sing out and Assumpta made her entrance. She jumped with surprise when she saw him standing there.

"Hi," he said lamely.

Assumpta crossed over to the aga and took the kettle off then turned to face him with an angry expression.

"Just who the hell do you think you are Peter? What makes you think you can just come in here?"

Peter held up a placating hand. "Please Assumpta, I just want to apologise for last night."

"_Just_ last night?" she snapped angrily and he took an involuntarily step backwards.

"No not just for last night; for everything. Look Assumpta, I know I've got a lot to apologise for – I get that now."

"Well then?" she said and crossed her arms huffily.

Peter glanced around the kitchen and remembered the last conversation he'd had with Assumpta in more or less the same positions they stood now. This was not going to be easy he thought.

He nodded his head in the direction of the kettle. "You know I could murder a cup of tea."

Assumpta stared incredulously at him. "Do you want to know what I could murder?"

"_Please_ Assumpta?" he said giving her his best lost school boy face. Assumpta sighed and shook her head before turning her back to him. She reached for some cups and Peter let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Start earning it," she said over her shoulder.

He crossed the short distance to the kitchen table and sat down. "I've been thinking about what you said last night," he began.

"And?" She turned and placed a cup of tea in front of him and sat down opposite with a cup of her own cradled between her hands.

Peter looked straight at her and for a moment lost himself in her beauty. Even furious she looked gorgeous, he thought. He cleared his throat and said, "You were right; I was being selfish and I only ever considered this mess from my point of view. I guess I didn't handle it very well."

She lifted her cup to her lips and blew. "You didn't handle it full stop," she said harshly.

He flinched at her tone. "Guess I deserved that," he said and mirrored her movements with his own drink taking a tentative sip. The hot tea burned his mouth and he licked his lips. He put the cup down and fixed his eyes on her face again. "Assumpta, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left like I did, I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you and I'm sorry you felt forced into marrying Leo."

Assumpta said nothing and blew on her tea again.

"Assumpta talk to me," he pleaded.

"You forgot the bit about you being an idiot," she said with a little less edge in her voice.

Peter smiled and dipped his head. "I was…."

Assumpta cleared her throat.

"I was and _am_ an idiot," he corrected.

"Better. Keep going," she said.

"Look I don't know how to make this right Assumpta. I don't even know if it can be made right but I would like to try."

She put down her cup and leaned back against the chair shaking her head. "You hurt me Peter."

He leaned across the table and reached for her hand. "I know, but you have to believe me when I say that that's the last thing I wanted to do. Assumpta, could we maybe start over? At least try and be friends?"

"I don't know Peter. I…..I don't want to set myself up for another fall. I mean do you even know how long you're staying or what you're going to do?"

"I er, I don't know. I hadn't really thought about it."

"You see, there's your problem right there Peter," she said throwing off his hand. "You never think anything through. You say you want to be friends but then what? What happens to me when you decide its time to leave?"

"_Leave?_"

"Yes leave, Peter. It's what you do isn't it?" she said the tension back in her voice.

"Do you want me to leave? If it is, tell me."

"What, and you'll just take off? It's that easy for you is it?" she spat.

"_What_?" he spluttered.

"I say go and you'll go just like that?" she said angrily and snapped her fingers.

Peter shook his head confused. "If my being here hurts you and you want me to go then yes; but I don't want you to. Do you want me to?"

Assumpta shook her head in exasperation. "I want you to _do_ _something _for once," she cried.

Peter stood up frustrated and ran his hands through his hair. He walked over to the sink and leaned heavily against it.

"Typical," she goaded.

Peter felt his temper rising and gripped the sink in an attempt to keep it in check. Assumpta watched him carefully and saw his arms trembling slightly. She fought the urge to go to him and played with her cup instead.

After an uncomfortable silence Peter turned around. "You know this isn't all my doing Assumpta," he said. "You played your part too, so don't vilify me."

She sat staring at him impassively and said nothing. The silence dragged out and Peter felt an awful dread in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his feet and thought hard about his next words.

"Assumpta?"

"What?"

"I love you," he said quietly.

That got her attention. "_What_?" she gasped.

Peter walked back to the table and pulled his chair next to hers. He took the teacup from her and placed it down, then took her hands in his and looked into her eyes.

"I said that I love you Assumpta; and I'm not going to leave while there's a chance you might love me too. So can we at least try?"

"How do we do that?" she asked.

"Like I said before...we just start over," he said.

"Just like that?" she scoffed.

"Yeah, just like that," he said. "I'll go first. Hi, I'm Peter Clifford. Unemployed and currently of no fixed abode, _but_ I have all my own teeth, and I am so not a priest."

She shook her head and smiled despite herself. Peter smiled at her and inclined his head waiting for a response. "Assumpta Fitzgerald," she replied.

"_Assumpta_? That's a beautiful name."

Assumpta laughed remembering the first time he'd said that to her. "Idiot," she said and hit him playfully on the arm.

"You're very free with that word of late," Peter said with mock hurt.

"Well if the cap fits," she said letting go of his hand. She took another sip of tea. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I would like to try; really I would but….."

"But what?" he asked.

"I don't say this to hurt you," she said quietly.

"Go on," he encouraged not sure he wanted to hear what she was going to say.

"I don't think I can trust you again," she said never taking her eyes of his.

Peter slumped back in his chair and didn't attempt to hide the hurt or disappointment he felt.

"I'm sorry Peter, but that's how I feel," she said.

"But we can still be friends?" he asked hopefully.

"That I think we can manage," she said softly. "You understand don't you Peter? It's a survival thing; for both of us eh?"

Peter nodded accepting what she was saying, but was clearly not happy about it. He ran his hands over his beard and let out a weary breath.

"Doesn't that itch?" she asked suddenly.

Peter smiled slightly and shook his head. "No not really, and apparently it helps me look older than my twelve years," he joked.

Assumpta laughed. "You've been talking to Niamh," she said.

"She likes it," he bragged.

"Yeah well she'd have to say that."

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that. You just look so different, but then you are different now aren't you?"

"How'd you mean?" he asked.

"You've been through so much. You've changed."

"I'm still Peter."

"Just not my Peter," she muttered quietly but he heard her anyhow and it cut him to the core.

He looked down at his hands and tried to regain his composure.

Assumpta watched him struggle with himself for a moment and wondered what he was thinking. "Would you talk to me Peter?"

"I thought that's what we were doing?" he said quietly.

"No, I mean _really_ talk to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me about Kosovo."

Peter felt himself clam up and he closed his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. "Not now, eh?"

"Why not now?"

He opened his eyes and looked pointedly at her. "Because I don't want to talk about it."

"Don't or won't?"

"Assumpta," he pleaded.

She reached across and gripped his hand. "You say you want to be friends Peter? Well friends talk to each other," she said.

Peter implored her with his eyes. "It's not something I want to rehash," he said and shook his head.

"No I don't expect it is. But its part of who you are now and I need to know. And I think you need to talk to someone."

"Why is everyone on my case about this?" he said.

She looked at him dumbfounded. "Because there's this awful chapter of your life that you're deliberately blasé about!"

Peter looked deeply into her eyes and found himself unable to look away. There was no longer any hostility in those eyes but there was definitely love reflected there. She might try and hide behind words and labels but he could see how she really felt as clear as day; it was there staring back at him like he was looking in a mirror. If he wanted her to trust him again he knew he'd have to be brutally honest with her and share his demons with her.

He smiled sadly and reached out to cup her cheek in his hand never once breaking eye contact. "You'd better get us something stronger to drink then."

**TBC**


End file.
